


Bagginshield Troupe Bingo

by SunnyRose



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arranged Marriage, Blacksmith Thorin, Foot Fetish, Gold Sick Thrór, M/M, Mention of torture, Mentions of Death, Old Married Couple, ReShirement, Reincarnation, Sort Of, Soulmates, War, bilbo's birthday, erebor politics, series of One-shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27036460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnyRose/pseuds/SunnyRose
Summary: I played a bingo game on tumblr, and decided to post the one-shots.1. Soulmates- Hobbits differ from the rest of Middle Earth in the fact that they believe the ridiculous notion that the soul resides in one's foot and that they can use their feet to find their soulmates.2. Blacksmith Thorin- Thorin hates going to the Shire every year, but there is one hobbit there who makes the entire trip worthwhile. Especially this year when they both seem to be dealing with difficult losses.3. Arranged Marriage- Bilbo arrived in Erebor expecting to be an ambassador to the Shire, not be pushed into an arranged marriage with a dwarven prince who has some dark family secrets.4. Reshirement- Old married couple, Bilbo and Thorin, plot a special trip after the hobbit's 111th birthday.5. Second Chances- After dying on Raven Hill, Thorin is reborn into a POW whose only concern is making sure he gets a second chance with his hobbit.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 36
Kudos: 155





	1. Soulmates

**Author's Note:**

> As I said in the description, this was the results of a bingo game I was playing on [my tumblr page](https://sunnyrosewritesstuff.tumblr.com/) for the last couple of weeks. Feel free to skip around if you want. I would love for you to comment and let me know which one was your favorite!

Amongst the scholars and philosophers of Middle Earth, the oldest and, most likely, well worn debate stems from the location of a being’s soul. Depending on which race is being asked, the answer differs greatly. Take the men for example, hardy and hopeful, and they believe that the answer lies in the gut. After all, ‘gut instinct’ must arise from somewhere, and surely food must power both the body and the soul. 

However, if the question is posed to an elf, immortal and elegant, they would argue that the soul must rest in the chest along with the heart and the lungs. All necessary for sustaining life in this world. Loud scoffs would come from the dwarrows, secret and proud, who know that the forging of one's craft is the most soulful experience one can have, and that would be in the large hands Mahal gifted them with.

All are logical arguments and definitely merit consideration. Still, all wrong in the eyes of a hobbit. The poor, simplistic creatures believe the soul resides in their feet. As if their claim was not peculiar enough, they state it as an absolute certainty. The Big Folk just smile and indulge the hobbits with a pat on their head, and it’s this level of cynicism that keeps them from knowing the secret truth of the Shire.

Yavanna, in all her wisdom, granted hobbits the ability of knowing their soul mates. With the feet that touch the earth blessed by the Green Lady, to be touched on the foot ties a string of fate between those two souls. Always feeling, always knowing, exactly where to find their soulmate so long as their feet still walk the earth.

Because of this, the care and attention to their feet was almost sacred. To touch another’s foot with ill intention was seen as downright criminal in the Shire.

Now, accidents happen and it is by the will of Yavanna whether those people pursue a romantic relationship or just remain touched by fate. Bilbo Baggins, a young hobbit of twenty-six, was not about to take the chance. 

He kept mostly to himself and away from the other tweens. More interested in chasing imaginary elves and fairies in the woods as a child, he now took walking holidays across the whole of the Shire spending his free time reading his books and his maps from the treetops. He never saw a problem with his self-instilled isolation. His parents fretted, and his father especially questioned how he was to find his soulmate if he kept to himself? However, Bilbo figured his soulmate would find him when the time was right. 

It was on one such day that Bilbo was lazing in a low branch over the river. Turned facing the trunk, his head was cradled by the leaves and berries. His right foot bent up at the knee, while his left swung freely below. Lost in the inked words of heroes and magic, Bilbo was completely oblivious to his surroundings. So when something brushed against his hanging foot, he sat up nearly dropping his book.

“Excuse me.” A voice called up as the person reached up and grabbed Bilbo’s foot to gain his attention.

Bilbo released a loud shriek as he jumped to his feet backing away. His foot! Someone touched his foot! In such distress, he seemed to have completely forgotten that he was in a tree, and there was really no place for him to go but down. His stomach flew to his throat as he was completely weightless for a small moment. Then he was plunged into the Brandywine.

If there had ever been Stoor blood in his genealogy, it had died out long ago as Bilbo sunk like a rock beneath the current. His lungs and nose burned as he wildly kicked and flailed hoping in vain to reach the surface. His head broke through for only a moment, and he gulped in air while he could.

“HOLD ON!”

Bilbo barely heard the roaring voice before he was plunged back below. His chest ached with desperation, and he was so tempted just to open his mouth and be done with it. Then he collided with something solid. His limbs instinctively wrapped tight in the hope of salvation even as his eyes refused to open.

Honestly, Bilbo wasn’t sure how he got onto the banks. One moment, he was fighting against the rushing waters, and the next he was on his hands and knees. Spluttering, coughing, hacking as water and snot ran down his face. His limbs shook as the fear wore off enough for the exhaustion of his journey to seep in.

“Are you alright?”

There was a warm hand on his back that made Bilbo look up. Blue. He was drowning once more. Numbly words tumbled from his mouth.

“My foot.”

A soft frown touched the being’s face, and Bilbo was able to break away from his eyes long enough to take in the sharp nose, short dark beard, long soft locks to match, and the large hands that were common among Aule’s children. A dwarf? The dwarf looked down at his foot, and Bilbo was now consciously aware of the deep throb resonating through his sole. The dwarf reached down taking his foot in hand, and Bilbo released a gasp.

Sweet Yavanna, he didn’t know that one could feel waves of pure bliss in this way. It was as if the sun had been gone without him even knowing, and he finally was feeling its warmth for the first time. His body went limp, and he turned his head so he could get a good look at his soulmate.  _ His soulmate _ . He wanted to be annoyed by his method of contact, but he was too mesmerized by the beautiful creature to care about the accidental touching.

He was large. From his broad shoulders to his mannish hands down to his sculpted chest that his wet tunic clung desperately. Wet tunic? Bilbo grinned brightly as he realized it was the dwarf that saved him from the river. His brave, handsome, kind soulmate. If Bilbo weren’t still technically a minor, he would propose right here on the spot.

“Did that hurt?” The dwarf questioned raising an eyebrow.

“Hurt?” Bilbo laughed. “It felt incredible. Here, let me.”

He sat up and reached over for the dwarf’s feet only to stop short at the sight of the dark squared monstrosities hiding his soulmate’s feet. His confusion must have been written on his face because the dwarf spoke up once more.

“You...want me to remove my boots?”

“Yes.” Bilbo nodded, his brow still furrowed.

The dwarf hesitated, but under Bilbo’s putout expression, slowly complied with the request. Bilbo’s jaw dropped aghast to see another layer of wool underneath the dreaded leather beasts. His plight seemed to amuse the dark haired dwarf as he huffed a laugh before removing the woolen socks as well.

Bilbo laughed in incredulous delight. They were so dainty and smooth! He reached out towards one only to hesitate and look up for the dwarf’s permission. His blue eyes tore straight through him as if trying to discern his every possible intention before finally giving a small curious nod.

Bilbo’s touch was revenant, and his heart immediately ached. There was so much pain in his dwarf’s poor soul. The pain of loss brought tears to Bilbo’s eyes. However, there was also a fluttering of hope. It was beautiful and noble and built on limitless dreams of glory and a far off calling of home. Yes, Bilbo’s dwarf was a good one indeed. 

He began to rub the foot exactly as his mother told him in order to soothe the pain. Thorin tensed for a moment before letting go with a sigh. Bilbo smiled, happy to do this one small thing for his sweet soulmate. He didn’t know if it was normal to be this attached, but he couldn’t help himself. He continued to rub until contentment settled into the dwarf’s bones.

“What did you do?” He asked softly when Bilbo finally, reluctantly released him.

“I merely dulled the pain and reminded your soul of better times.” Bilbo answered.

“I didn’t even know I had such aches; long has been my journey.”

“It was the least I could do. I mean...you did save my life.” Bilbo ducked his head shyly.

A large hand reached up and ruffled his curls.

“ _ It was the least I could do _ , Little One. After all, it was my fault you fell in the first place.”

Bilbo was nearly vibrating with the attention until he caught the dwarf’s pet name.

“Little?! I am practically an adult.” He complained.

The dwarf snorted as he proceeded to cover his feet once more. Something else that caused Bilbo displeasure.

“My nephews would say much the same.”

“You have nephews?” Bilbo jumped eager to know more of his soulmate. “How old are they?”

“Let’s see...the younger one just turned...fifty-two, I believe. Which would make the eldest fifty-seven.”

Bilbo blinked owlishly at the dwarf wondering at the purpose behind this jest, but he did nothing to deny it as he laced his boots back up. As it settled around him, Bilbo came to the realization that the dwarf was being one hundred percent serious. Just how old was his soulmate?!

“And what about you? I would imagine on the frontside of fifty. Forty-seven? Forty-eight?”

“Twenty-six.” Bilbo murmured still reeling from the apparent longevity of dwarves.

The dark haired dwarf’s jaw dropped as his face paled. 

“Twenty...by Mahal! We need to get you back to your parents right away!” 

Bilbo’s face turned crimson as the implication that he was but a young faunt, but then the dwarf took his hand in his, and Bilbo stayed his tongue as he found he enjoyed the sensation. It was incredible to him that dwarves’ hands were so large when their feet were so cute and small. Exactly opposite of a hobbit. It was like Yavanna and Aule planned for them to compliment each other. Bilbo took advantage of the situation and laced their fingers together as he swung the limbs back and forth. The dwarf, Bilbo still had not learned his name, allowed him with an indulgent smile. Wait. Bilbo still did not know his name.

“What’s your name?” He asked immediately seeking the blue orbs for answers.

“I am Thorin, son of Thrain. How about you, Little One?”

Bilbo clearly was not about to lose that nickname anytime soon.

“Bilbo Baggins.” He responded.

“Bilbo.” Thorin repeated fondly.

Bilbo repressed the urge to shiver at how his name sounded in Thorin’s velvety voice. Trying to distract himself from his desire to press closer, Bilbo began to prattle on, telling Thorin all about his home and the Shire in general. He talked about his desires for adventure and his cosy smial. He talked for so long, wanting to share every detail of himself with Thorin that he wasn’t even aware they were home until he walked straight into the gate.

“I suppose this is where I leave you, Little One.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. Leave? Why would Thorin leave?

“I must return to my home now.” Thorin explained in amusement.

Bilbo ducked his head not realizing he had asked his questions aloud.

“Will you come back?” He begged already hating the distance between them.

“I may.” Thorin smirked.

Bilbo’s grin split his face as he leaned up and placed a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose. Thorin watched completely bewildered.

“Good. Because I have chosen you.”

“Chosen me for what?”

“To be mine.” Bilbo answered honestly.

The dwarf looked confused but still managed to draw a small smile to his face.

“Farewell, Bilbo Baggins.”

“I’ll be waiting! Thorin, son of Thrain!” Bilbo declared waving enthusiastically to the dwarf as he departed down the hill.

Bilbo was able to feel every step he took further and further away from him. It was like a tug on the very soul of his feet. Uncomfortable and strained. It made Bilbo want to run down after the dwarf, and never let him go. However, he could wait. He would become of age soon enough, and then he would chase off into the wilderness after that dwarf. He just didn’t know the wait would be longer than he would ever know. Long enough for him to all but forget about the insistent tug that demanded his attention away from the Shire. However, Bilbo was quickly reminded when for the first time in twenty-five years, the tug eased in its pull indicating his dwarf was finally coming back for him. Now if only he could get this pesky wizard to leave him alone so he could prepare...


	2. Blacksmith Thorin

Hobbits. A species slightly more tolerable than men, and infinitely easier to stomach than elves. Still hobbits, with their frivolous conversations and round bellies that speak of full meals and not an ounce of hardship, made Thorin grind his teeth. Especially when they spurned Thorin’s masterpieces in well crafted hunting knives, intricate hair beads, and jewelry so fine many couldn’t believe it was iron and not silver. No, the hobbits wanted pots and pans, door locks, sometimes a wind chime, but only if it was plain. They deemed the sound quality lost if he bears too much detail. He didn’t mind that some folks had simpler tastes, if they were at least consistent with it.

His metalwork would be passed in a heartbeat if it was “too embellished”. However, Bofur’s carving skills would be the talk of the market. His pipes were top sellers for their caravan every year. Even Dori’s tea sets and weaving would catch their eyes. Hobbits. If they didn’t pay as well as they did, Thorin would have their caravan pass the Shire completely on their seasonal trip from Ered Luin to Erebor.

“You’re late this year.”

Thorin passed the reins over to his oldest nephew, Fili, before hopping down from the cart to meet with the Thain. Thorin had worked well with his father and brother before him. Isumbras Took, on the other hand, was fair, but rather curt. Of course, Thorin credited that to his advanced age. Hobbits, much like the dwarven royalty, passed on the title of Thain through the males of their line with no abdication except in death. Yet, they tried to argue that the position wasn’t that of a king. Isumbras has only been Thain for four years and looked days away from passing the title onto his son, Fortinbras, which is why Thorin figured the gentlehobbit was accompanying him today. The business of training heirs and ruling ‘kingdoms’ were tasks he was thankful would never have to be his.

“You’ll have to excuse us. We had a death in the family this year.” Thorin explained somberly.

It had been a mining accident. Vili, Dis’ husband, was taking on some extra work while they were in Ered Luin, and a tunnel collapsed on him. She and the boys were devastated. Thorin had considered the man a brother and was hurt by the recent loss. Normally, they would have arrived in the Shire by summer’s end, but he couldn’t begrudge his family their time to mourn. The Thain nodded sympathetically.

“I understand the sentiment. My sister, Belladonna, passed away this spring as well. The white plague. It took her husband eight years prior as well. Left poor little Bilbo up on the Hill all by himself, but he’s a resourceful lad. Seems to be doing just fine, even if he is a little thinner.”

Thorin listened to the hobbit ramble about his family, nodding along appropriately. That was the other thing about hobbits. They were practically all related, and would spout stories about each other as if Thorin was expected to know exactly who they were talking about.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Thorin stated.

The Thain nodded his appreciation as he looked over Thorin’s papers of commerce, allowing their caravans the right to sell in the Hobbiton marketplace.

“I know your lot tries to clear out after about two weeks, but you ought to consider staying through the Harvest Festival. I’m sure a little extra coin will more than make up for your late start.” Isumbras encouraged.

“And Bilbo’s birthday.” Fortinbras pointed out.

“Yes! The lad is turning 44! A good grounded year.” Isumbras nodded eagerly.

Thorin nodded politely, feeling his attention begin to wane. 

“We will consider your offer. Thank you for your hospitality.” Thorin spoke the practiced words as he jumped back onto the wooden bench.

Isumbras and Fortinbras waved at them as they urged the ponies forward on the well traveled lane.

“Can we stay for the hobbits’ festival?” Kili asked eagerly from the back. “I’ve never been to one.”

“I’m sure it’s like every other festival we’ve been to.” Thorin grumbled.

“How can we know for sure if we don’t go?” Fili interjected with a smirk.

Thorin rolled his eyes at his nephews’ playful attitudes, pleased to see them smiling once more. Which is why he couldn’t outright deny them.

“I will consider it.” He sighed.

The two cheered and immediately began chatting about what could possibly happen at a hobbit festival that would be different from the dwarven and mannish festivals they had been to beforehand. They came up with eating competitions, sleeping contests, and jumping contests due to their large feet. Thorin merely shook his head as he worked on tuning them out.

The Company had already pulled into their usual spots and were hard at work setting up their displays as Thorin and the boys crested the hill. Their group was made up of five individual families, each with a different craft. However, after so many years on the road together, they were one big family at this point.

There was Bombur with his wife and children, and they would sell dwarvish pastries and tarts. Thorin was assured those weren’t the same thing. His brother, Bofur, and cousin, Bifur, were wood carvers. Bofur tended to focus on the practical end of furniture options and pipes while Bifur loved to create toys for the little ones. The next family was Dori and his brothers. Dori usually tended to keep Nori close by to keep the former thief out of trouble, but Ori worked with Balin selling books, quills, parchment, and inks. 

Gloin, with his brother, wife, and son, were the hunters in their group and sold off what they couldn’t eat. Oils from the fat that his wife somehow managed to scent with different kinds of flowers and berries. Furs and leather also came from their stand, and Oin tended an apothecary. That left Thorin, Dwalin, Fili, and Kili to man the forge while Dis handled their sales.

It saved Thorin from having to talk to the hobbits personally which tended to work out better for everyone involved. Thorin and Dwalin were accomplished blacksmiths, masters in their craft. They had taken Thorin’s nephews on as apprentices, but Fili clearly had more talent in etching details than hammering their shape. Meanwhile, Kili had a fine eye for gems and if they were a little more wealthy, Thorin would have recommended him as a goldsmith to become a jeweler. The boys never had complained about their lot in life, and seemed to be genuinely happy working for Thorin and Dwalin.

It took them the rest of the day to get settled in, and Thorin could see some of the hobbits passing by with their curious, yet suspicious stares. The gossip mill ran so fast here, he was certain they would have a line of customers by the next morning. There were three peak times in a hobbit market, and they all revolved around their meal times. The morning rush would happen between first and second breakfasts, the midday would be right before tea time as they wandered out of their smials to socialize, and the final one would happen right before supper.

Right on cue, as soon as the sun’s rays touched the earth, here came the hobbits to check out their wares. Even from the back of the forge, Thorin could hear their grumblings about how they were late this year, and how inconsiderate it was to keep them waiting. He knew he would have blown up at somebody by this point, and he could only thank Mahal for Dis’ patience to be able to handle the ridiculous and fussy creatures.

“Oh Thorin! I think you’ll want to handle our next customer.” Dis teased.

Thorin raised an eyebrow at her looking up from the bent pan he was trying to hammer back into shape. He didn’t talk to hobbits unless… He screwed up his face in exasperation even as he rushed towards the front of the stand. So maybe not all hobbits were bad. In fact, there had been a young lad and his mother who had always been very appreciative of Thorin’s crafting. 

When the dwarrows first started appearing in the Shire marketplace, the lad was barely of age. He was lean, something unusual for a hobbit, and had a boundless amount of mischievous energy. In fact, that was what endeared him to Fili and Kili. The three would sneak off to the pubs or down to the river as soon as the Company pulled into town. Over the years, Master Baggins tempered out, but his hazel eyes still screamed for adventure. In fact, with as much as the other hobbits tended to watch him with judging eyes and mockingly disappointed whispers, he figured the only reason the lad hadn’t run off into the wilderness yet was his mother.

Misses Baggins had probably the kindest heart of any being Thorin had ever met. She greeted them not only with respect, but as if they were old friends dropping by for a visit. A few years back, she had commissioned Thorin for a set of silver spoons, and had asked for his very best work. She wanted her dining set to be ‘the envy of Hobbiton’. It was the first time he had truly poured his heart into a project in the Shire, and it was well worth the effort when her face lit up at the sight of her spoons. He had etched flowing vines and leaves in the handle of each spoon with a little acorn sitting at the end.

She made it a point to brag on his spoons every time they came back. It got to the point where the rest of the Company teased him into bribing her for compliments. However, Misses Baggins was quick to point out how credit is only given where credit is due. There was not a hobbit that didn’t seem to at least respect Misses Baggins, and as for her son, he absolutely adored her.

As the golden haired hobbit picked his way through the market, Thorin couldn’t help but notice there was something vastly different about him from their last visit. He never greeted a single person, be they dwarf or hobbit, unless he was spoken to first. Even from this distance, Thorin could tell his reply was curt and impersonal, his smile polite but forced. Sympathetic, but approving, eyes from the masses followed Master Baggins as he slowly made his way to the forge. 

Thorin watched him, unsure of how to greet him. Much to his sister and nephews teasing, there had always been an attraction, at least from the young hobbit’s end. Of course Thorin was an old dwarf, and did his best to dissuade his affections. However, as the years went by, Thorin learned there was a difference between hobbits and dwarrows in terms of age. He watched as Master Baggins transcended young adulthood pushing into the maturity of middle age. Then one summer, two years ago, Thorin was watching Master Baggins sitting out on his front porch smoking his pipe in the dying like of the sunset, and it hit him. He had never seen anyone so beautiful in all his life.

It had been a sobering moment for many reasons. For one, he wasn’t sure he had the right to pursue a courtship with the young hobbit he had practically watched grow up no matter what age hobbits consider adulthood. On the other hand, dwarrows had a concept of Ones. An old wives’ tale to explain the fierce and sudden draw a dwarf feels when they fall in love. However, if Ones existed, Thorin was almost certain Master Baggins was his. Which brought up another sore point to Thorin’s pride on why he resisted asking for his hand...Thorin couldn’t remember the hobbit’s first name. He swore he was never given it in the first place, but Fili and Kili are quick to point out that they were there when it was offered. 

A jest they find so funny as to still not give up even after all these years. It didn’t matter how much work and chores Thorin threatened them with. Not that Dis ever let him follow through with it. Her recommendation was that if he wanted to know so bad, he should simply ask. A perfect way to offend the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

Still, Thorin had crafted a courting gift anyways. For two years, the pendant has sat in his breast pocket. Warmed by the blood pumping through his heart as it waited patiently to be united with its owner. If only Thorin had the courage to give it away.

“Good morning, Master Baggins.” Thorin finally called out as soon as the hobbit was close enough.

“Hmm?” The hobbit questioned, clearly distracted before putting on that forced smile once more. “Good morning, Mister Thorin. We certainly missed you this summer. I hope everything is okay?”

Thorin knew he was staring at the hobbit’s abnormal pale complexion and listless expression, but once he brought up their tardiness, Thorin ducked his head.

“We lost Vili earlier this year.” Thorin confessed knowing the hobbit had been close with the boys’ father.

He hadn’t expected his entire demeanor to fall. His body slumped, and his eyes looked haunted and lifeless.

“I’m...so sorry. My condolences.” He whispered. “Please excuse me.”

Thorin watched as he picked his way back up the hill as if in a hurry. Fili and Kili poked their heads out in confusion.

“What’s wrong with Bilbo?” Kili questioned.

“I’m not sure, he...Bilbo?” Thorin spun around on them.

Fili glared at Kili who was looking sheepish. Thorin was seconds away from releasing a mocking, triumphant laugh, but he found himself focused on the name itself. Where had he heard the name Bilbo recently? The Thain’s conversation came rushing back and dread seeped into his very soul. Thorin didn’t think as he hopped the counter rushing past the suspicious and bewildered hobbits to get to Bag End.

Thorin pounded on the bright green door, the hobbit’s long sought name falling easily from his lips. Bilbo’s eyebrows were furrowed in confusion when he finally answered the door, a surprise gasp on his lips upon seeing Thorin. The dwarf only took in his red cheeks and watery eyes before pulling him into a hug. Bilbo was limp in his grasp before folding his arms tightly around Thorin’s torso. His body shook like a leaf, and Thorin’s tunic slowly began to develop wet spots. He could care less. 

“It’s okay, Bilbo. I’m so sorry.” He soothed as the hobbit clinged to him like his life depended on it.

“You figured it out.” His shaky voice huffed. “Fili and Kili will be so disappointed. They were making bets on when you would ask after my first name.”

Thorin rolled his eyes over the top of Bilbo’s head before burying his nose deeper in the hobbit’s wild curls. He pressed a chaste kiss to the top of his head making sure Bilbo knew that he had people to care for him. He would take care of his infuriating nephews later. When Bilbo finally pulled away, Thorin wouldn’t say he looked better, but his eyes at least looked less lifeless.

“What can I do?” Thorin asked as he rubbed the tear stains on Bilbo’s cheeks with his thumbs.

The hobbit bit his lip, unable to look Thorin in the eye as his ears turned pink.

“I...No, I couldn’t…”

“Bilbo.” Thorin cut off his ramblings. “Anything.”

“Stay.” Bilbo whispered, ducking his head in shame at requesting such a thing.

Thorin sucked in a deep breath before releasing it.

“Done.”

“What?” Bilbo questioned in shock.

“I said done.” Thorin repeated with a small amount of amusement.

“But...your family?” Bilbo murmured.

“They know the way to Erebor well enough at this point, and they have each other to lean on. You clearly need me more here, so I will stay.”

“Thorin, I...I couldn’t ask you to give that up. For me. It’s not...I’m not…” Bilbo was fumbling with the words, his eyes downcast.

It suddenly hit Thorin. Bilbo didn’t know his feelings had changed. He thought Thorin was taking on the task as some sort of parental obligation. The pendant had never called to him more, and with a sudden rush of clarity, Thorin found he had no problem revealing it at last.

The silver chain glistened in the sunlight, and at the end was the acorn Thorin had painstakingly carved to make it as realistic as possible resting in front of a round hobbit door, stained green. Bilbo looked at the necklace with awe and a small amount of trepidation.

“I don’t understand.” He murmured.

“In my culture, we give courting gifts for three reasons: To protect, to provide, and to cherish. I may have just learned your first name this morning, but I cherish you, Bilbo Baggins. And I would ask that you allow me the honor of proving that to you.” 

Thorin thought he had found everything he needed to love the hobbit. However, the heart shattering gaze that Bilbo pinned him under caused Thorin’s belly to swoop in delight. For a moment, Bilbo looked like the young lad he had met all those years ago. Then his face broke out in a bright smile before launching himself back into Thorin’s arms. The dwarf laughed as he held tight to the hobbit. 

“Do you really mean it?” Bilbo breathed as if he couldn’t quite dare to hope.

“Yes. I do.” Thorin murmured, pulling him in tighter, hating that Bilbo has been spending months thinking he was to be all alone. “I mean it all.”

“Okay.” Bilbo nodded. 

Thorin was proud that the determined adventurous shine had returned to his eyes.

“Then we will stay just long enough for my birthday, and then I will go with you. For if we are to court the dwarven way, then I will provide you every opportunity to work the craft you love so much.”

Thorin couldn’t breathe. It was almost more than he dared to hope when he considered courting the hobbit. However, that feeling didn’t last long. It was almost magnetic how quickly Thorin found Bilbo’s lips sealing their promises with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with this one. I liked the idea behind it! And I loved the idea of having a Thorin with an artistic mindset, but I had to redo the ending several times.


	3. Arranged Marriage

When Bilbo had been asked to represent the Shire in Erebor, this wasn’t at all what he had in mind. Dreams of being an ambassador in the wealthiest and most influential kingdom in all of Middle Earth was quickly dashed by the reality of the situation. He was presented as a suitor for their prince along with twenty other representatives. Bilbo still didn’t know if his grandfather knew ahead of time and didn’t tell him, or if he had been deceived the same as Bilbo. That the Shire mattered enough to this eastern dwarf kingdom to encourage trade between their lands. Either way, he had been made the fool.

He stood at attention amongst willowy elves, strong dwarves, and youthful men. Males and females amongst all their races as he remained the lone hobbit. It was a jest. He stood no chance of winning the affections of a prince. He was merely there for the propriety of not excluding a member of the free race. It was a waste of his time, and he was certain, a waste of the prince’s time. Yet, he remained in line waiting until his name was called to enter the conference room and present his candidacy. He hoped he would at least have time to tour the mountain before they threw him out.

“Bilbo Baggins, Grandson of Thain Gerontius Took of the Shire.” The herald announced.

Bilbo resisted the urge to sigh as he stepped forward. The white haired advisor who had been leading the others in one at a time raised an eyebrow at Bilbo.

“A hobbit? How unusual.”

Bilbo crossed his arms behind his back as he held his head high.

“I believe there is quite a bit about this situation I would label unusual, but I am not one of them.” He answered coolly.

The dwarf’s eyes widened in surprise, but there was a twinkle to them showing he was not offended by Bilbo’s retort. Which was good news for Bilbo. He had a bad habit of letting his mouth run away from him.

“Right this way, Master Baggins.” The dwarf instructed bowing, rather unnecessarily, before him. “The prince may ask you a few questions. Just answer honestly. This is not a game of politics, just a dwarf looking for his match.”

“Yes, of course.” Bilbo answered brusquely as he tugged at his best receiving jacket.

The burgundy clashed beautifully against the pea green of his waistcoat with it’s golden embroidered vines. His grandma Laura used to tell him all the time that it was his best outfit for highlighting the Baggins brown in his hair and eyes. While desirable in the Shire, he knew it made him look a bit plain elsewhere in the world. Perfect for getting an eccentric prince to pass over him as husband material.

It was a mere few paces before Bilbo got his first good look at his potential husband to be, and it was almost enough to stop him in his tracks. The dwarf before him stood regal and proud with his flowing ebony locks flashing with silver beads and crown. His nose was straight and small when compared with other dwarves Bilbo had met, but his eyes. It was as if Aule captured the sky above and pinned it into those fathomless depths.

“Bilbo Baggins, grandson of Thain Gerontius Took, may I present Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, Prince of Erebor.” The older dwarf introduced.

Bilbo blundered through a bow, almost forgetting it entirely in his stupor. Thorin approached him, an appraising hand on his chin as he circled Bilbo. The hobbit was taken aback by the blunt sizing up, but he held his silence as he awaited the prince’s verdict.

“Tell me, Master Baggins, why should I pick you as my husband?”

Sweet Yavanna, his voice was just as sinful as his eyes.

“I’m sorry?” He tried to clarify, his tongue feeling clumsy.

Thorin looked seconds away from rolling his eyes as he retook his place in front of Bilbo with his arms crossed.

“I’m asking, what could the Shire offer Erebor out of this union? Flowers?” He mocked.

Bilbo’s eyebrows furrowed as heat rose from his chest to pool in his cheeks. He cleared his throat as he fought to maintain control of his voice. Clearly, his earlier musings at the dwarf’s beauty was merely surface deep.

“I did not come prepared to make any negotiations on behalf of my homeland, Your Highness.”

The dwarf’s eyes narrowed as his chin jutted high. “So you came merely to take advantage of Ereborian hospitality.”

“I came on behalf of my Thain after being summoned by your king!” Bilbo snapped, unable to reign himself in any longer.

“Be careful how you speak, Hobbit!” Thorin growled.

“I do apologize, Your Highness, and I certainly mean no disrespect to your grandfather,” Bilbo continued, unable to stop the growing tirade. “But this entire farce has been the epitome of wasted time. What can the Shire do for you? How about bellies full of good food because it is clear to me, there isn’t rich farmland for miles! The better question is what can Erebor do for us? You may be rich in gold, but we have no need for it out west. I had hoped to at least get a good story out of this venture, but you have done a decent job of dashing that hope! Now we both have known from the moment I walked in that you weren’t going to pick me, so let’s end this with our dignities still mostly intact.”

Bilbo finished with a nod as he tugged on his jacket hem once with finality. It was only then he was aware of Thorin’s raised eyebrow and slack-jawed expression. The advisor looked similar gobsmacked, and Bilbo found himself embarrassed for an entirely new reason now.

“Yes, well, thank you for your time, Your Highness.” Bilbo mumbled, fumbling through another bow.

Neither dwarf reacted, and Bilbo awkwardly excused himself from the room. Bilbo kept his head down as he passed the entrance where the rest of Thorin’s potential suitors still stood, hurrying back to the guest halls. He’s had quite enough of dwarven kingdoms, and he figured he was about to be thrown out on his bum. He only wished Gandalf was still around to escort him back home. Oh well, he would wait for him in Dale if he had to, but by Eru’s will, he was leaving Erebor tonight!

Once back in his room, Bilbo had to lean against the stone door to fight the jelly sensation traveling up his legs. Did he really just yell at a prince? It didn’t matter how they chose to look at his grandfather’s position, he certainly did not hold enough power and influence in the world to be able to get away with that. His need became that much greater, and he swiftly threw his belongings in his pack. A few wrinkles here and there was a sacrifice he was willing to make to stay clear of the dungeons.

He had just finished tying the drawstrings when there was a knock on his door. He froze debating on whether or not he should answer. He could fake his absence, but the guards standing in the corridor would know he had not vacated. Cold sweat dripped down the back of his neck as there was another knock. He twisted his hands around each other as he slowly crossed the room and answered with shaking nerves.

“Good evening, Master Baggins.” The advisor from before greeted with a bow.

“Master Dwarf.” Bilbo nodded in return. “Before you say anything…”

“Balin.” The dwarf interrupted with a wide grin.

“Pardon?” Bilbo sighed.

“Balin, son of Fundin, at your service.” He introduced. “Might I borrow a moment of your time?”

Bilbo looked around him, more than a little surprised it was only the older dwarf outside his room.

“I’m afraid our Prince is not with me.” He explained, trying to guess Bilbo’s thoughts.

“No, no! I didn’t think...please, come in.” Bilbo stepped aside wondering how many ways he could look like an idiot that day.

“Is the room not to your liking?” Balin questioned upon entering.

“It’s quite comfortable.” Bilbo reassured.

“I only asked because you packed up as if you were hoping to transfer quarters?”

His nose twitched under the older dwarf’s knowing stare.

“Yes, about that…”

“I thought you handled yourself well today.”

Bilbo’s head gave a light thrum as the conversation continued to twist in circles.

“You...do.” Bilbo concluded dryly.

“Yes, the bluntness of a dwarf, but still retaining an air of manners. Fine qualities when looking for a consort.”

Bilbo replayed that last line over in his head a few times with a sickening realization.

“Master Dwarf…” Bilbo began once he found his voice.

“Balin.” The other reminded him gently.

“Master Balin,” Bilbo started again. “Prince Thorin isn’t putting serious consideration in the idea of...me? Right?”

The soft smile and the twinkling gaze was far from reassuring.

“Our prince would like to extend the invitation of dinner tonight to make amends for your first meeting.”

“Why?” Bilbo asked in morbid curiosity.

“He feels you may have gotten the wrong impression…”

“Master Balin.” Bilbo interrupted him this time. “You know clearly what I meant.”

Balin nodded his head, his grin still wide as if pleased with Bilbo’s wit.

“Ask Thorin. Tonight. We will send a runner when it’s time. Please, let us know if there is anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable.” Balin declared giving a final nod to Bilbo’s packed bag.

With that, Bilbo was left alone, and a thought that hadn’t quite occurred to him before seeped into his very being, filling him with dread. That damned, arrogant dwarf was actually about to pick him. And for what reason? Spite? Furthermore, if that was the case, he would be stuck here in Erebor. Never again to see his Shire, his beloved Bag End. What started off as a high-spirited adventure to distant lands was quickly morphing into a bleak, stony prison. 

His gaze wandered to his pack. How far could he make it before he was caught? Would they even bother or would Thorin just move onto the next suitor in line? The temptation was only subdued by his duty to the Shire. It would reflect poorly if he left without giving the dwarf a second chance. Besides, surely, there was no law that would force him to marry? He heaved a heavy sigh as he unpacked his next best outfit for dinner.

***

By the time the runner came for him, Bilbo had smoked two pipefulls of Old Toby, changed his clothing three times, and marked a path in the fireplace rug from his pacing. For once in his life, Bilbo’s stomach rejected the mere idea of food, and his desire to run was all but reality. Still, his sensibilities and courage took hold, leading him down the hall after the servant, and into the most gorgeous dining room Bilbo had ever seen.

The table was long and stone like most dwarven furniture, but there was a solid gold inseam that ran like a stripe straight down the middle. Lavish tapestries and weaponry decorated the walls, and right in the center was a massive chandeleur that Bilbo was willing to bet was made with real diamonds. It caught the candles within, and bounced the light a hundred different ways making the room practically sunlit in spite of the hour.

Thorin, himself, was dressed in deep blue and dark furs, contrasting against the fireplace at his back at the head of the table. Even without his crown, there could be no doubt that he was a prince, hell a king in his element. The dwarf rose to meet him, and the palpable tension that he carried earlier was gone. His guard was still up though, and Bilbo found that just made him even more unreadable. The prince nodded his head mere paces from him.

“Master Baggins.” He greeted evenly.

“Your Highness.” Bilbo returned with probably his most natural bow of the day.

Thorin reached out his hand, and Bilbo hesitantly gave his expecting a handshake only for his ears to burn when Thorin’s lips grazed his knuckles. He was staring at Bilbo now, his eyebrows furrowed just slightly as his mouth open and closed a few times as if unable to decide on his words.

“Your...vest...thing is very nice. It highlights your...feet.”

That was quite easily the strangest compliment Bilbo had ever received. He had to glance down to make sure there wasn’t something wrong with his appearance.

“Thank you?” He finally offered.

Thorin nodded again, a little relief bleeding into his countenance. He swept his hand out indicating a place setting next to Thorin’s own. Bilbo moved towards his seat, pausing as Thorin pulled out his chair for him. His gaze settled on the empty plate before him as he struggled to make sense of the prince’s change in behavior. A silence pressed on them both as Bilbo tried to find a polite way to ask after his purpose in being there.

“So…” They both started at the same time.

“No, please you first.” Bilbo insisted.

“Please, go ahead.” Thorin offered at the same time.

They gave an awkward chuckle before Thorin decided to speak again.

“How are you finding Erebor?” 

“The mountain is very lovely.” Bilbo answered stiffly. “I must confess, I haven’t had much time to explore.”

“That...is a shame. I will have to give you a tour soon.” Thorin mumbled in response.

“I would hate to impose, Your Highness.” Bilbo politely declined.

Thorin looked a little crestfallen, and Bilbo found it tugged at his chest in a way he didn’t understand.

“But if you did, where would you take me? What are your favorite aspects of your kingdom?” Bilbo blurted.

Thorin blinked in surprise before a small, but genuine, smile spread across his face. Bilbo’s throat felt clogged and he was thankful when the servants brought out their first course to hide his burning face behind a spoonful of soup.

“These are all things that wouldn’t be on an official tour.” Thorin explained with a smirk. “But I love to walk deep into the diamond mines with nothing but torchlight and watch the room glitter like stars in the sky. I love being near the forges with the sweltering heat and the pounding of hammers on the anvils. But my favorite place is the ravens’ roost. There is a spot up there where you can see for miles, and it feels like all of Middle Earth is before you.”

Bilbo felt himself smile, enthralled by Thorin’s passion for his home. He paused for a moment, just soaking in the images described to him that were so different from his home, but somehow just as beautiful. 

“What about the Shire, Master Baggins? Tell me about your own home.”

Bilbo clumsily began to talk about the rolling green hills, the sun-kissed summers, the gardens and farms, and an evening smoke filled with a field of fireflies. Things he was certain held no interest to a dwarven prince, but if Thorin was bored by his narration, he never showed it. After that, their conversation seemed to be a little easier, if not still polite and distant. They were closing out the evening when Bilbo finally had to ask.

“Your Highness, not that this hasn’t been lovely, but why me?”

Thorin blinked before his expression slowly closed off once more.

“You were the strongest candidate that I felt I could have a...relationship with.” Thorin explained, his words practiced even as he stumbled over the word relationship.

Bilbo felt ice drop into his stomach. Even after the past couple of hours of amenable chat, this was all still a ruse. A political maneuver of some kind.

“Prince Thorin,” He barked, as surprised as Thorin by the hard edge to his words. “If I may be frank, I came here with no intention of staying in Erebor through the night. I will be leaving for the Shire, unless you can give me a  _ real  _ reason to stay.”

Thorin’s hands tightened into fists, and for a brief moment Bilbo feared Thorin would order his guards to lock him in his room. His expression pinched, and he released a breath through his nose as the tension slid out of him once more.

“I hate it when Balin is right. He told me you would not be idly swayed, but I chose to ignore him.” Thorin mumbled more to himself than to Bilbo.

Bilbo narrowed his gaze. “Sorry, I was not stupid enough to be tricked.”

“No!” Thorin gasped. “I...it’s just…”

A hand rubbed down his face, and Bilbo found he looked far older and more tired than his initial impression. A sympathetic tug at his heart held him to remain and hear Thorin out. The prince stood up and led the way to a different doorway than where Bilbo entered.

“We can’t talk here.” Thorin explained when Bilbo merely stared at him in confusion.

Heaving his own sigh, Bilbo got up and followed the dwarf through the new passage. It wasn’t long before Bilbo was completely lost on how he would find his rooms from here. Maybe that was Thorin’s plan to keep him in Erebor. He would be a prisoner of the mountain, lost in its labyrinth. They finally reached Thorin’s destination, and Bilbo entered after the prince. He was a little confused as to the nature of this room. It opened into a sitting room with expensive furniture and what appeared to be a personal armory. However, there were several doorways that branched out, and peeking down one Bilbo caught a glance of what appeared to be a bedroom.

“Where are we?” He asked curiously.

Thorin had immediately gone to the liquor cabinet in the corner and poured them both a drink.

“These are my chambers.” He answered.

Bilbo jumped and took a step backwards. He was torn on how he should feel: outrage at the dwarf’s presumptions, indignant at being tricked into the prince’s bed, or the small part of him that wanted to be just a little exhilarated at the fact that Thorin chose him.

“Now see here!” Bilbo began.

Thorin rolled his eyes as he interrupted what was about to be an impressive tirade on Bilbo’s part. “Peace! I merely wanted to speak away from prying ears and eyes.”

Bilbo’s jaw clicked shut. Thorin invited him to sit on the settee, and it was with stilted movements that Bilbo perched himself on the edge of the seat. He took the glass offered to him, but made no move to drink. Thorin on the other hand threw back the strong brew in one gulp glaring down in the empty glassware. The air was heavy as Bilbo waited for Thorin to give his reasons before he threw the drink in his face and marched out. 

“My grandfather is unwell.” Thorin whispered.

Bilbo almost wasn’t certain he heard him correctly at first until Thorin pinned him with a desperate and intimidating glare.

“Your grandfather...I don’t understand. Does he need a healer?” Bilbo finally asked.

Thorin snorted staring off to the right with a dark look.

“It’s not a physical illness, but one of the mind.”

Bilbo nodded, still relatively unsure what this had to do with anything.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about how to help with that.” Bilbo finally stated.

Thorin gave a mirthless laugh, his eyes softening some when he looked back at Bilbo.

“I shouldn’t think so, Master Baggins. None do. He has been consumed with his riches, Dragon Sickness, they call it. My only hope now is to soften the effects of his rule until I can inherit the throne. My father and I were ruling Erebor together behind the scenes until his…passing.”

“Please, don’t think me uncaring, Your Highness. But what exactly does this have to do with me?” Bilbo sighed.

Thorin was silent for another long moment, and Bilbo was afraid he had overstepped when Thorin spoke once more.

“I love my grandfather. I mean, I want to love my grandfather, I loved him once long ago. But he has become...cruel and careless, and I fear for Erebor. I have sent my sister Dis to live with her husband and sons in Ered Luin years ago because I don’t know how he will react to having more heirs.”

“Surely, not his great-grandsons.” Bilbo tried to protest, but Thorin’s somber look stopped him.

“The war I fought in that earned me the title Oakenshield, I was supposed to perish along with my father and brother.”

Bilbo’s heart clenched as his hands tightened around his glass. These were secrets he shouldn’t be hearing. There was no way he, a simple hobbit of the Shire, was to know of royal family plots and shame.

“Thorin...why don’t you leave? Go to your sister and nephews!” Bilbo cried aghast.

It was the first time he had spoken so casually to the prince, and yet neither of them noticed. The dark haired dwarf’s gaze was so sad, and yet filled with a firm strength Bilbo couldn’t help but admire.

“Erebor is my home. Besides, I worry for its people if I were not here to protect them.” He explained. “No, once Balin and I learned the...truth. No matter how hard it was to swallow, we had to come up with a plan that would make me look less...threatening in my grandfather’s eyes. I fear he thinks I want to take his throne from him by force, and I dare not dwell on what measures he is cooking up to remedy it.”

Bilbo forced himself to swallow against the pain that threatened to overtake his chest. To live in fear of one’s own grandfather...he couldn’t even imagine. He certainly disagreed with his own quite often and was frequently annoyed by him, but he has never feared the Old Took.

“So if I were to appear as a fool in love…” Thorin purposely hid his gaze from Bilbo. “Especially with someone below my station with no hope of giving me heirs…”

At his pointed gaze, everything suddenly fell into stark clarity. Thorin intended to use him as a shield against his grandfather’s paranoia. It made perfect sense. Hobbits had no desire for gems and riches. A simple, country  _ male  _ who managed to snare the heart of the heir to the most powerful kingdom in all of Arda. It was so brilliant, and yet he felt sick to the very pit of his stomach. He numbly set down his untouched drink as he stood and stepped away towards the fire. His hands were antsy, and he had a strong desire for his pipe. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Bilbo demanded spinning around. “Are you trying to blackmail me into going along with this deranged plan?”

“You asked!” Thorin snapped, jumping to his feet as well.

“Stop treating me like an idiot!” Bilbo snapped, fury written in his every nerve. “I’m done with the half-truths. You brought me into this, why?!”

Thorin was a puppet with his strings cut. This, whatever it was, it was clear this was not Thorin’s game. From what Bilbo knew before meeting him, he was a leader, a warrior, a hero. He wasn’t a politician or spy, he wasn’t one for mind games, and it seemed as if Bilbo’s words stripped him of that leaving him bare.

“Because I need your help. I didn’t expect you to be...you.” He explained gesturing to Bilbo. “A head of wit and a spine of mithril, but after you spoke to me in the conference room, Balin and I both realized you were exactly what people would expect out of a consort. It would...sell easier, especially considering you’re not...a dwarf.”

Well, there it was. There were many emotions welling up that made Bilbo wanted to stomp his foot, burst into tears right there, and pull out his hair. Never in his wildest imaginations did he expect he was being summoned for something like this. A fake marriage to make a mad king take his heir less seriously in terms of succession all because he was a qualified candidate.

“Please.” Bilbo turned to Thorin fully only moments from falling to his knees in a plea. “You must know that this is insane.”

However, it was only after he said it that he knew Thorin did. He didn’t even have to look into the haunted blue eyes before him. This insanity was Thorin’s everyday life.

“Dwarven engagements are notoriously long. No one would bat an eye if it was two or three years before we married. With your Shire being months away, we could even drag out the process. In the meantime, those loyal to me will be working on a solution. It’s possible you wouldn’t have to marry me at all.”

Bilbo’s eyes fell to his feet. “What if I don’t want this?” He asked hoarsely.

Thorin sighed as he hesitantly put his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder giving it an encouraging squeeze.

“I understand. I won’t hold you here, I just ask for your...discretion.”

Bilbo nodded numbly refusing to let himself be taken by Thorin’s broken voice.

“I need time to think.” He finally told him. “I’ll give you my answer in the morning.”

Thorin nodded before leading him back to Bilbo’s room. Bilbo didn’t mind the silence this time, although he felt anyone looking at the two would think they were heading to an execution rather than two wayward lovers sneaking back to one’s bedroom. There’s no way this would work. He stopped at the door unsure of how to tell the prince goodnight. Thorin seemed to have similar qualms.

“Thank you...for the meal.” Bilbo finally offered rather chafe. 

“Of course.” Thorin answered gruffly, still lingering. “Master Baggins…”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow as he waited for whatever belabored sales pitch the dwarf would throw at him to convince him this was a good idea. He didn’t know if it was his expression or the weight of his terrible secret, but whatever Thorin was about to say died on his tongue. Instead he fixated Bilbo with such a soft expression, the hobbit swore he was melting.

“Thank you for allowing me your company this evening. I wish you well in your travels.”

Bilbo lowered his gaze as he nodded. Thorin gave him one last look before turning and going back the way he came. Bilbo found himself irritated with what he deemed as blatant emotional manipulation. As if he could possibly guess Bilbo’s answer the following morning. Good riddance to handsome dwarven princes and their complicated family drama. Thorin only made it that much easier to tell him no the next day. Even with that plan in place, Bilbo found himself tossing and turning as his dreams centered on blue eyes and deep, rich voices. 

Bilbo wanted to complain that it was the tug on his sympathy that won him over that next morning. The truth was more pathetic. All it took was one look into Thorin’s hopeful blue eyes, and a ‘yes’ fell from his lips. For one small moment, the shine of gratitude and relief made it worth it. It was like Thorin said. They had years to consider an alternative solution. In the meantime, Bilbo would play the happy in-love consort to be. Thorin barely gave Bilbo a moment to grasp what he had signed up for before he was taking him to meet the king.

Thorin and Balin did a good job of building some fairy tale worthy story of love at first sight and other such nonsense as Bilbo fought to keep from squirming under Thror’s dark, cold glare. When they finished the king gave a mocking smile, and when he spoke, Bilbo’s world toppled out from underneath him.

“Why wait? If it’s true love, I say we get started with the wedding planning now. Thorin and...Master Baggins will be wed by the end of the month.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this was supposed to be a one-shot...


	4. Reshirement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pure tooth-rotting fluff and I love it! Old married couples are so sweet, and I tried to incorporate that into Thorin and Bilbo as much as possible.

Pots and pans were being thrown around the kitchen waking Thorin from his afternoon doze in the armchair. He blinked lazily as his old bones and joints adjusted to the harshness of reality once more. There was another loud bang that would have had him jumping for his weapon thirty, even twenty years ago. Now his arm jolted in the muscle memory of such acts, but unable to get his body to cooperate.

“He’s been at it for awhile now.”

Thorin’s head swiveled to the other occupied chair. His back ached just watching Frodo sprawled out sideways in the chair. His head cushioned on one armrest, and his legs swinging freely over the other as he continued to turn pages in his book. 

“What’s he doing?” Thorin asked, his voice gravelly and dry from his nap.

“Baking was his response when I asked earlier.” Frodo answered when he gave a look towards the kitchen before dropping to a whisper. “But Lobelia and Lotho tried to drop by for tea time. I don’t think it went well.”

Thorin gave his nephew a grimace. No, he could imagine it didn’t. He started trying to ease his fat bum out of the chair, and Frodo jumped up to help him with a nimbleness that made Thorin green with envy.

“I’ve got it.” He half-heartedly grumbled even accepting Frodo’s guiding hand.

More than used to Thorin’s prickly nature, Frodo just gave him a wide grin as they got him standing on his feet, a cane already in hand. His foot never fully recovered from Azog’s blade running through it. Thorin couldn’t help the fond smile as he ran a hand through Frodo’s dark curls. Frodo ducked his head in a need to preserve his newfound maturity even as his cheeks blazed with a pleased pink.

“Leave your uncle to me.” Thorin told him.

“As I always do.” Frodo responded rather cheekily. “In the meantime, I believe my company would be better spent down at the inn.”

“You tell Fredegar to stay out of those rose bushes! I don’t care how drunk he is. We don’t need Bilbo to cross from grumpy to irate.” Thorin warned.

Frodo laughed with a promise to do so as he practically skipped out the door. Thorin shook his head. Youth. He was better off without it. Well, at least that’s what he tried to tell himself even as he limped his way into the kitchen. 

Thorin stood for a long moment merely staring at the chaos before him. Baking, Frodo called it. There was not a free counter space anywhere. Baked scones, pastries, and rolls lined the window sills and racks. Pans, sheets, bowls, and utensils all laid in various degrees of messiness. Then there was the fact that there wasn’t a single surface not covered in flour. Including his hobbit husband in the center of the commotion muttering to himself as he stirred the mixture as fast as his arm could manage.

“Ukrad (greatest heart). What is wrong?” Thorin asked in a little more than a murmur.

Bilbo’s head popped up to stare at him as if in surprise Thorin had been able to find him. Then his features pulled down in a spectacularly irritated grimace.

“That damned woman.” Bilbo swore long past the age to care about manners and niceties. Not that Lobelia Sackville-Baggins has earned a lot from him in the first place. “Do you know what she had the gall to ask me?”

Thorin’s lips pulled into a soft smile wondering how he could manage to love someone so much even when they were in a fit of anger.

“Tell me.” He commanded.

Bilbo’s glare fell to the dough in his bowl as continued.

“She wanted to know if I would be able to  _ accommodate  _ a party necessary to  _ appropriately  _ celebrate Frodo and I’s birthdays. Can you believe that?”

Thorin didn’t know what to say to that. Sixty years he’s lived in the Shire, and he still hasn’t quite managed to grasp the significance of party planning. He did know they had an odd superstition revolving around double numbers, and that Bilbo’s 111 and Frodo’s 33 was a very big deal. Beyond that, to him, a party was a party. He couldn’t keep up with the slights created by who gets invited and who doesn’t, the tackiness of guest gifts, or the other inane things his husband has chosen to complain about over the years. Instead he remained quiet and let Bilbo rant as he slowly picked his way through the mess, cleaning up as he went.

“Oh! And then you should have seen her bloody goblin of a son. Peeking down hallways and into desk drawers as if there were treasure flowing free.”

“Well there is the troll chest locked away in the hall closet.” Thorin pointed out.

“A small chest.” Bilbo huffed.

Thorin cocked his head realizing this wasn’t Bilbo’s usual temper. There was something off with him, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was. He sidled up behind him wrapping his arms around Bilbo’s waist as he buried his nose in his hobbit’s silver curls.

“What is wrong, azyungel (love of all loves)?” Thorin repeated.

Bilbo seemed like he was just going to ignore his husband’s tender embrace when he suddenly heaved a huge sigh. All of the tension sucked out of him, and he was leaning back on Thorin so quickly that the dwarf had to quickly readjust before they both toppled over backwards.

“I’m old Thorin.” Bilbo whispered.

“You don’t look it to me.” Thorin responded.

“That’s entirely the problem.” Bilbo scoffed even as his hands locked over Thorin’s arms on his waist. “It’s odd...I haven’t aged properly. Some sort of dwarvish magic I’m sure.”

Thorin chuckled lowly. “If I had the kind of magic to preserve youth, I would have worked it on myself years ago.”

Bilbo turned to stare at him at that point. His eyes were heavily with some unknown weight, but his hand was gentle as it caressed the wrinkles of Thorin’s face and brushed the snow white locks off his shoulder. A smile pulled at Bilbo’s face at that point as if he found exactly what he was looking for as he rose up on tiptoes to plant a kiss first on Thorin’s nose and then on his lips. Thorin held onto the warm body before him for as long as he could, but it wasn’t more than a few seconds later that Bilbo pulled away patting his arm affectionately. 

He went back to his baking, and Thorin went back to observing him. The difference of ages between their races had always been an odd thing to consider. Bilbo had tried to prepare him for the idea that their time together would be short, always thinking Thorin would outlive him. However, the more he watched him still putter around the room like he had when they met over sixty years ago, the more he thought it would prove to be the opposite.

Thorin had always put Bilbo first in their marriage. Well, ever since a well-timed throw from a rock meant the difference between life and death all those years ago in Erebor, Thorin devoted himself to Bilbo. He never wanted Bilbo to be unhappy, and being home in the Shire had made Bilbo happy. Lately, though, there was a restless energy about him. Almost as if he had outlived the peaceful lands and rolling hills that encompassed him. 

It wasn’t the first time he had thought about it. It was just every time he came close to planning it out completely, something stood in their way. The summer storm in ‘59. Primula and Drogo’s unfortunate accident that landed Frodo at their front door. Most recently, Thorin losing all the nerves in his foot. All he wanted was to take his husband on one last adventure. One more time to see the light shine in Bilbo’s eyes as he saw the world. If not now, when?

“What if we didn’t have a party?” Thorin blurted, his thoughts carrying away with his mouth.

“What?” Bilbo jumped with the most perplexed expression nearly spilling all of his scones.

However, now that he’s said it out loud, Thorin realized it was an idea worth pursuing.

“Let’s cancel your birthday this year.” He reiterated.

Bilbo shook his head with a humorless chuckle. “My dear Thorin. My relatives may consider me antisocial and quite mad, but even I wouldn’t dare dream of the backlash from not hosting one’s own 111th birthday. Becoming the pariahs of the Shire would be the least of our worries.”

“I don’t expect to be around to experience the fallout.” Thorin explained evenly.

“Oh?” Bilbo arched a brow elegantly. “And just where do you expect to be?”

“Mithlond.” He answered.

Bilbo stopped to stare at him in full on shock.

“Tharbad, Erebor, you always talked of going as far south as Minas Tirth. Let’s travel the world again, mudùmel (comfort of all comforts), before we stand in Mahal’s Halls with naught but our regrets.”

Bilbo’s jaw dropped as he continued to pierce Thorin with his assessing gaze.

“You’re serious?” He finally breathed.

Thorin merely nodded.

“But your foot…” Bilbo tried to argue.

“Shouldn’t be too much to manage from pony back. Besides, I would rather die doing something again than as a cripple in my bed.”

Bilbo’s expression pinched, and Thorin quickly backtracked realizing his mistake.

“I want to see mountains again, Bilbo, don’t you?” He pleaded.

Bilbo was silent for a long while, his eyes drifting around his kitchen as his nose gave a nervous twitch that Thorin always found endearing. He was just about to give up on the notion altogether when Bilbo finally answered in a soft tone.

“Yes, I want that more than anything.”

Thorin’s face broke out in a wide grin longing to pick Bilbo up and swing him around as he used to. He settled for pulling him into his embrace.

“Then let’s go.”

“Frodo?” Bilbo asked.

“He’s old enough now.” Thorin tried to appease.

Bilbo gave him a sharp look that was impossible not to read. However, he resigned himself with a small huff. Besides, it didn’t have to be forever.

“We can’t not have a party.” He finally sighed.

Thorin tried not to feel too disappointed. It was a good dream mine, but clearly an empty one. He shouldn’t have expected much anyways.

“But we’re out of here the very second it’s over.”

Thorin stared down into his hobbit’s mischievous face. His eyes twinkling again like a rekindled flame in the forge. Surely, it had to be impossible to be filled with this much love. It was something he questioned every day he was with his hobbit, and a point he was proud to be proven wrong everyday. They sealed their pact with a kiss in the warm, messy kitchen. The next chapter in the story of  _ The Hobbit and His Dwarf _ .


	5. Second Chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the reincarnation one so Thorin does start off by "dying" at Raven Hill. And Thorin is a POW so there is a mention of torture, but I don't go into any sort of detail! Just giving you a fair warning.

It was a moment that seemed to last forever and yet was slipping away at the same time. There was so much pain in his soft face as he continued to naively believe or pretend for Thorin’s sake. He wasn’t sure which. One thing was for certain. No matter where his death took him, he would never forget Bilbo Baggins. So many words lay unspoken, but there was no time for quick confessions that would more than likely do more harm than good at this point. It was enough that he had his forgiveness, and more importantly, his friendship. Mahal’s Halls were where he was bound now.

_ “Thorin, Thorin, hold on. The eagles, the eagles are here Thorin...the eag...” _

Waking again was probably the hardest thing Thorin has ever done. Everything hurt from the top of his head down to the tips of his fingers. Not exactly surprising after the number Azog just did on him. He groaned as someone roughly shook his arm.

“Thorin! Are you with me?”

“Til the end.” He croaked instinctively as he still fought to get his bearings.

A penlight was being shined in his eyes, and he squeezed them tightly against the assault. 

“He’s coherent. That’s a good sign. Let’s get him back in the Humvee pronto.” 

Thorin’s head was pounding in protest as he was hauled to his feet by both his rescuers. The moment he was upright, he let loose his stomach right there on the dirty dark floor. The acid burning his throat and mouth in its wake.

“Time for that later lad.” Oin urged pulling him away from the mess.

“Better now than on the ride back.” Dwalin grumbled before adopting a more official tone as he pinched something attached to his tunic. “Raven has been recovered. We’re coming in.”

There was something off about this whole situation, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on it yet. However, it quickly became apparent to him the moment he was hit with dry, scorching desert air. He blinked stupidly and would have stopped his feet from moving if Dwalin and Oin didn’t have a tight grip of his arms around their shoulders. One thing was for certain: this was not the life of Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain. 

“Where…?” He began as he fought to keep up with Dwalin and Oin.

“No time.” Dwalin growled. “We’re getting you back to base ASAP.”

Thorin fought to remember. Memories were getting jumbled up between what he thought was his life, and this reality before him. It wasn’t necessarily like he hijacked another body, just two subconsciouses of the same person trying to find room to coexist. He could remember Thorin the dwarf’s escape from Erebor with a fiery passion, but he also had the memory of Thorin Durin the soldier being promoted to captain of their unit. It was jarring and his nausea threatened to return. His feet slid out from underneath him, but Dwalin and Oin carried him effortlessly.

Why were they out here? For that matter, why was he out here? He fought to push aside thoughts of Erebor and quests against dragons as he focused on Thorin Durin. What did he know about him? He had a brother and sister who both lived, thankfully. He had two little rascals for nephews who were waiting for his return so he can take them camping like he promised. He led a special unit of about thirteen men. The Cursed, they had been so aptly nicknamed. But another had embedded himself. Not a soldier, a photographer. They had been heading into town for...something. Pleading hazel eyes, shared laughter as they rocked out to Queen, the click of a camera shutter, the vehicle flying off the road, an ambush, and Bilbo...Thorin’s head shot up in a jerk that just about made him black out.

“Bilbo.” He tried to explain to Dwalin as he resisted slightly.

The dark look on his friend’s face was far from reassuring. A lump caught in his throat. No. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not after he finally remembered everything. He didn’t want to say the harsh word. He didn’t even want to think it. But he had to know.

“Is he…?”

“MIA.” Dwalin announced emotionlessly.

Thorin understood to a certain degree. They were trained to separate emotions in these situations. Still, it shook him to his core to hear it from his friend. 

“We have to…” Thorin began the words thick on his tongue.

“The only thing we have to do is get you back to base. The reporter is not my concern right now.”

Thorin jerked his head to glare into his friend’s surprisingly beardless face. However, the pain in Dwalin’s dark eyes stayed his voice. His muscles shook in repressed fury as he fought against the coursing adrenaline. Somewhere out there, Bilbo needed him. And he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. It was a thought that should have left him in a haunted wakefulness, but as soon as Oin got him in the back and started trying to patch him up, Thorin found himself once again pressed into unconsciousness.

***

_ “Let me take the Humvee into town.” _

_ Thorin stared into those pleading hazel eyes feeling his resolve crumble and blow away in the arid wind. The photographer always seemed to have that effect on him for some reason though. _

_ “You know I’m willing to bet your package will still be there on Monday.” Thorin pointed out as a last ditch effort. _

_ “It’s my nephew.” Bilbo shrugged. “We were going to zoom tomorrow and...come on, uncle to uncle. Let me do this. It’s barely fifty clicks away.” _

_ “Yeah, fifty clicks through Orc territory!” _

_ Bilbo gave a subtle wince like he always did when they mentioned Orcs. Thorin didn’t quite understand it, but he was under the impression that Bilbo didn’t particularly care for their nickname of the local terrorist cell they were stationed out here against. _

_ “Please, Thorin.” _

_ That was it. Those two words shattered him. He walked around to the driver side of the vehicle.  _

_ “Get in.” He ordered. _

_ A smile broke out across the shorter male’s face, and Thorin couldn’t help the soft upturn of his own lips. _

_ “Where are you going?” Dwalin shouted halfway across the camp. _

_ “Out.” Thorin shouted back. “We’ll be back.” _

_ He didn’t wait for Dwalin’s response before he slammed the door. Within a matter of minutes, they were on the road (if you could call it that) screaming the lyrics to the Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of their lungs. Bilbo immediately burst into fits of laughter when Thorin tried to match the high notes which had him in stitches as well. That was one thing he liked about Bilbo. It was just damn easy being around him. _

_ He heard the click of a camera shutter and turned his head to see Bilbo staring down at the captured image. _

_ “Delete it.” Thorin ordered. _

_ “No, I don’t think I will.” Bilbo teased. “I’m going to call this one ‘Goofy Idiot Doesn’t Realize Soldiers Are Supposed to Be Badasses’.” _

_ Thorin peeked his head over to see a soft, serene smile had been captured. He felt a heat he couldn’t credit to their surroundings crawl up his neck knowing what he was thinking about when Bilbo took the picture. Well  _ who  _ he was thinking about. _

_ “Maybe you should title it ‘Soldier Didn’t Realize His Guard Should Be Up When Listening to Queen Classics.’” Thorin recovered quickly. _

_ Bilbo sniggered in response, but his eyes were glued to the photo. Thorin always wondered what it would be like to have an artistic mind. To see things in perfectly ordinary situations, and call it art. Bilbo often got this way when reviewing his shots. A sort of wistfulness with a touch of unadulterated joy.  _

_ “So if you got to do it over again, what would you return for?” Bilbo asked out of the blue. _

_ “If I got to...What are we talking about?” Thorin questioned, perplexed. _

_ “You know just, life, in general. If you got a redo on your life what would you strive for? Money? Redemption? Love?” _

_ Thorin raised an eyebrow. “You’ve clearly given this a lot more thought than I have.” _

_ A sort of sad smirk crossed the smaller man’s face. He turned his gaze to his passenger window. _

_ “I suppose I have.” Was his murmured response. _

_ Thorin never got a chance to follow up before literally all hell broke loose. His vision jarred as they were blown sideways. Everything happening too fast for his short term memory to keep up. However, he remembered the shout of Orcs as they ripped open the door. He could still see the fear in Bilbo’s blood stained face as he screamed out for him. A bullet in his thigh to keep him from running, and then a black hood over his head before he was thrown in the back of a truck. _

***

Thorin sat up in his cot abruptly. Or at least he tried to before hands gently guided him back down. Voices were speaking to him, but they were drowned by the panic shout of “THORIN!” produced by his hobbit that just wouldn’t go away.

“Bilbo.” Thorin grunted trying to fight his way back up.

“Easy, lad. Easy. I dare say you won’t be much help to anyone if you go and undo all of Oin’s hardwork there.”

Thorin knew that soothing tone. It helped calm him down some even as he still felt the sweat pour down his body, and his breathing come out more as pants.

“Balin?” He questioned finally brave enough to open his eyes.

The face that stared down at him wasn’t the wizened dwarf he remembered. Balin’s kind, intelligent eyes were still his, but he was a much younger man now with dark short hair that had little wisps of grey in it. Thorin decided his smile was also the Balin he knew as the man nodded his head.

“Aye, lad. With us again?”

Thorin looked around at the strange environment with medical equipment he didn’t recognize. One of which was hooked to his arm by a long tube and bandages. Everything was white and the smells were enough to burn Thorin’s nose. He was about to ask where he was when he remembered once more that he was no longer in Middle Earth. The vertigo of his two worlds colliding was enough to drop his head back on the pillow. Still there was a very important question he had to ask.

“Bilbo. Was he with me when you found me?”

Balin’s eyes turned sad as he shook his head in the negative. 

“Good news is we haven’t found a body and it’s only been 72 hours so we still have time. But if he’s in the same sort of shape we found you in…”

Thorin didn’t need the visual. Just imaging a fraction of the torture he went through being applied to the little photographer was enough to make him sick. His hands covered his face as the sheer devastation at being unable to protect the one person who mattered the most in two lifetimes filled his chest.

“It’s not your fault, laddie.” Balin tried to soothe patting his arm.

It was a lie. Thorin knew they should have stayed on base. Thorin thought he would provide more than enough firepower on his own. Now Bilbo was in the hand of the enemy, and there didn’t seem to be a damn thing he could do about it.

_ “Thorin, Thorin, hold on. The eagles, the eagles are here Thorin...the eag...” _

_ “So if you got to do it over again, what would you return for?” _

Thorin’s hands slowly lowered from his face as his brows furrowed together. It wasn’t possible, was it? Could this Bilbo really be...like him? Before he could contemplate it further, Dwalin came bursting into the room, Nori and Bard on his heels.

“We may have found him.” Dwalin announced without preamble.

“Where?” Balin demanded jumping to his feet.

“About seventy clicks southeast of where we found Thorin.” Nori answered. “I got some unexpected heat signatures on my drone. Can’t say for certain, but it’s an old structure with a few new jeeps loitering out front. Looks promising.”

Balin looked at Bard, Thorin’s second in command. “What do you want to do?”

“I think we have the manpower and the element of surprise. Let’s take it.”

“Great.” Thorin grunted as he pushed himself up yanking the needle out of his arm.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Balin grunted unimpressed. 

“I’m not just going to sit here.” Thorin growled fighting to get to his feet even when his leg wound nearly sent him back to his knees.

“You stubborn idiot.” Dwalin huffed before grabbing him by the scoff of his shirt and pushing him back into the cot. “Even if you could stand straight, there’s no way you can hold a gun. Just let us do our jobs and you rest here.”

“No! I can’t-!”   


“Laddie.” Balin commanded with a stern look.

Thorin was positively radiating fury at being told he couldn’t do something and knowing deep down that his friends were absolutely right. His eyes dropped to the floor, and the other four finished outlining their plans. After they left, Oin came back in only to nearly have an aneurysm at Thorin’s state. He threatened to give him another dose of pain medication, but Thorin staunchly refused. He would remain lucid until he knew whether they had Bilbo back or not.

Balin brought the video feed into Thorin’s room so they could watch the mission together. Dwalin, Bard, Bofur, Bifur, and Gloin repelled down on ropes from the bird overhead as Nori, Dori, Beorn, and Bombur crept up to the back. Ori cut the power from on board the bird, and they stormed the building. Orcs were shot down the moment they were identified as they made their way deeper into the hideout. Thorin was about to lose hope altogether that they would find him at all, when a figure was seen tied to a pipe in the corner of the basement. 

He was in need of a shave and looked gaunt and haggard, but he was whole. When Dwalin pulled the blindfold from Bilbo’s teary eyes that matched his relieved grin, Thorin felt wetness drip down his own face. He was alive. He was alive and he was safe again.

“I want to be out there to greet him as soon as they get back.” Thorin demanded.

Oin and Balin both sighed but didn’t argue. It was demeaning to be pushed out in a wheelchair when the bird landed back on base, but he didn’t care as the cargo hold opened up and his friends filed out one by one. Dwalin smirked at him, Bofur slapped him on the back telling him to ‘go get his man’, but Thorin’s eyes were glued to Bilbo who was being assisted out by Ori.

The moment they locked eyes, they were limping as fast as they could to lock the other in a tight embrace.

“I didn’t know where they took you or if you were still alive...Thorin.” Bilbo sobbed into his shoulder.

Thorin clung him even tighter ignoring the throbbing in his gunshot wound concentrating all his energy into the warm, breathing body in his arms. There was so much Thorin wanted to tell him, but the first thing he could think of was:

“We called this mission, The Eagles.” He whispered. “The Eagles are here, Bilbo.”

He felt the other man tense as he pulled back just enough to stare up into Thorin’s face. His eyes were a mixture of confusion, awe, and delicious hope. It gave Thorin the courage to continue as he stroked the side of Bilbo’s face.

“If more people valued food and cheer above gold, this world would be a merrier place.”

The elation on Bilbo’s face forced a bubbling inside Thorin’s own gut as he swore his feet were no longer touching the ground. Bilbo’s hands found their way to the back of his neck before pulling him down into a breath-stealing kiss.

“I...prayed to the Valar...for years...for a...second...chance...with you.” Bilbo moaned in between passionate kisses.

“And now we have it, Master Burglar.” Thorin grinned in response.

The sound Bilbo produced could only be described as bliss as their mouths clashed together once more, and this time not even words could tear them apart again.


End file.
